“I was just thinking what a joke it would be if Starling took that stuff seriously about the hidden money and began to hack away the woodwork and dig up the cellar floor!”
“Why, wasn’t it true?”
“Sure! At least, as true as anything is that folks tell. You know, Nod, after being repeated a couple of hundred times a story sort of grows.”
Lee grunted. “After some smart Aleck has written it up as an English comp. its own mother wouldn’t know it! The real joke would be for Starling to wreck the woodwork and find the money!”
“No, that wouldn’t be a joke,” said George, “that would be a movie! Come on! It’s starting again! Last man in East buys the sodas! Come on, Lee!”
Lee and Laurie ran a dead heat, and all the way to George’s room, on the second floor, each sought to shift to the other the responsibility of providing the soda-water for the trio. In the end, George appointed himself referee and halved the responsibility between them.
When, twenty minutes later, Laurie climbed onward to Number 16, he found a very disgruntled Ned curled up in the window-seat, which was now plentifully supplied with cushions. “Where’ve you been all the afternoon?” he demanded aggrievedly.
“Many places,” replied Laurie, cheerfully. “Why the grouch?”
“You’d have a grouch, I reckon, if you’d messed around with a soggy football for almost two hours in a cloud-burst!”
“Did you—er—get wet?”